“We’ll have to improvise something, as usual,” replied Dylan. He smiled.
“So, this is the fabled Yamato?” Edern asked and turned to Bran. “And you were here all this time?”
Bran nodded. “Good to see you, Banneret.”
Edern rubbed his neck. “I’m actually a Commodore now. Or I was, before coming here.”
“How’s the war going?” asked Dylan.
“Give the man some rest,” Gwen nudged Dylan’s side. “Can’t you see he’s exhausted?”
Outside, somebody blew a conch. The crowd hushed down and stepped back, forming a corridor, through which a procession of samurai officials approached the courtyard gate.
Dylan waved at a group of servants led by a Bataavian merchant. “These men will take you to your quarters. You might take a palanquin, it’ll be faster.”
“What about the dragons?” Edern asked, while eyeing the black palanquin with suspicion. It was almost exactly the same as the vehicle Bran remembered squeezing into when travelling to meet Lady Kazuko for the first time; he felt sorry for the Tylwyth, who was a lot taller than him, and injured.
“They are staying here, for now,” replied Dylan. “There’s no other place to keep them in this city. This place is like Fan Yu before the war.”
You want to show them off, thought Bran. They are your trump card.
Edern’s tall frame filled the interior of the black palanquin, and the four muscular servants carried it out the smaller, southern gate — where fewer people had gathered — just as the main, eastern gate opened heavily to welcome the pageant of aristocrats, some on foot, others in golden-trimmed palanquins. All bore the ginger-shoot crest of the Nabeshima clan. Bran recognised one of them, an old, bald man with long white beard, followed closely by a young boy.
“Tanaka-sama!” he cried and waved, but the old master saw only his Western face and his eyes glazed past Bran to pause at the awe-striking sight of the three resting dragons.
There was no time to study the beasts; the samurai moved aside to make place for one last piece of the cavalcade, a noisy, almost comical contraption: a black-and-gold windowless box shaped like an oversized palanquin, riding on two massive wheels, with the third, smaller wheel in front, a funnel at the top spewing excess mistfire from the complex engine puffing and ticking underneath the box between the rear wheels.
The machine came to a halt before the Dejima delegation; the engine’s grinding and clacking slowed down, but did not stop. The palanquin door opened, and a servant ran up to it with a pillowed step.
All gathered prostrated themselves before the man who emerged from the machine, except Dylan and the Overwizard. Curzius stepped forward and made a deep bow. The aristocrat returned his bow with a nod and a smile.
“I did not hope to see you again so soon, kakka,” Curzius said, speaking in the Yamato language.
“I did promise you a rematch on your home ground, Oppertovenaar-dono.” The Daimyo searched out the white beard among the entourage. “Tanaka-sama, do turn off this infernal racket, please. You can see our mode of transport is nowhere near as impressive as that of our guests,” he said, nodding towards the resting dragons. The old mechanician rushed to the steaming, trembling vehicle.
“Which one’s the boy?” The aristocrat narrowed his eyes, scanning the Bataavian delegates. Bran stepped forward.
“I believe you mean me, kakka.”
“Outstanding.” The aristocrat’s face wrinkled in a soft smile. “No accent at all! I’ve read the reports, but to hear it in the flesh… Do you know who I am, boy?”
“Daimyo of Saga, I believe. I visited one of your castles, in Yanagawa, kakka.”
Why is he here?
Bran had only a vague idea of where the main Saga castle lay, but he knew it would take more than a few days to get from there to Kiyō on foot, which meant the entourage must have left long before news of the night of the Obon had reached the daimyo.
Had he come to meet my father?
Bran saw Dylan tense up at the nobleman’s arrival. This was supposed to be just a meeting between the Bataavians and the city’s Magistrate. Between them, Dylan and Curzius hoped to easily outmanoeuvre the hapless official, already on the verge of suicide following the recent events. But the arrival of a warlord was bound to complicate their plans.
The daimyo nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Excellent. Let us proceed to the council hall. Come, boy. And you too.” He gestured to the Magistrate and Curzius, in turn, and nodded at the Bataavians. Bran hesitated.
“What is it, boy?” the daimyo asked.
“I’m sorry, kakka, I am unable to attend the meeting.”
Lord Nabeshima’s arrival had already delayed the start of the meeting, and his presence ensured it would take far longer than anyone had expected.
“Nonsense.” The daimyo’s face changed so fast it was as if he’d switched kabuki masks. He was now an embodiment of official overbearing. “As soon as I heard you were in Kiyō, I desired to speak to you. You’re staying until I let you leave.”
“Kakka. It is urgent that I depart immediately—”
“Enough!” The daimyo raised his paddle of office to show his decision was final. “I do not wish for any more delay! You shall be free to go once this is over.”
Why does every daimyo in Yamato treat me as if I was their subject? Bran fumed. It must come with the job.
“What does he want?” asked Dylan on the side.
“Uh, I believe he wants Bran to stay for the meeting,” Curzius explained.
“Is that it?” said Dylan. “Bran, you mustn’t refuse our honourable host,” he added. He suppressed a sly smile.
Bran cast him a hateful look. Traitor. Before he managed to protest, the daimyo slapped his back with a paddle.
“The longer we wait for you, the further away your departure will be, boy.”
He walked past Bran towards the council hall; a trail of servants and retainers followed close by, brushing Bran aside.
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it brief,” said Dylan quietly, patting him on the shoulder. “Move the saddle and stirrups from this Viridian to the Jade,” he ordered a couple of Bataavian porters. They stared at him, and then at the mounts, mouths agape. “Go on, don’t act as if you’ve never seen a dragon before!”
The screen doors slid open all around the hall. The servants entered, bringing in lacquer trays with bowls and plates topped with the best food the Magistrate’s kitchens provided. It wasn’t the standard Yamato dinner fare, Bran noticed. Each guest — and there were a dozen of them, three in each legation, sitting on the straw floor in a half circle before the dais, upon which rested the daimyo of Saga, Lord Nabeshima — had his meal adjusted to their respective needs.
The Bataavians were served a stew of venison, skewers of grilled wildfowl, and bowls of oxtail broth. For the three representatives of the Qin merchant community, led by Li, the cooks prepared a miniature feast of dozens of small plates. Dried and broiled sea delicacies, simmered bean curds, and seasonal vegetables in elaborate compositions, all dressed up with summer flowers and pieces of bamboo sculpted into animal shapes. Dylan, Gwen, and Bran were served the same food as the Bataavians. The cook, unable to figure out how to prepare a fitting meal on such short notice and desperate to make a good impression on the unfamiliar guests, created little dragons out of turnips and radishes. Bran smiled.
Half an hour later, once the bowls and plates had disappeared from the low tables and replaced with clay cups and pots of cha, the daimyo raised his paddle. The room fell silent.
“We have heard the reports from all the representatives,” Lord Nabeshima said. One of the two men accompanying Curzius translated his words to Bataavian. “Before we discuss the situation further, let me present you with the news that brought me here to Kiyō in the first place.”
A retainer sitting on the daimyo’s left handed him a thrice-folded piece of paper.
“A few weeks ago,” Lord Nabeshima continued, “every
major daimyo, abbot, and High Priest received a copy of this letter, marked with the Chrysanthemum Seal. It obliged every loyal subject of the Divine Mikado to rise against the foreign barbarians, and drive them from Yamato — even if that meant defying the Taikun.”
The interpreter stuttered. Loud gasps came from the Bataavian delegation. The Overwizard covered his mouth with his hand. Lord Nabeshima nodded sadly.
This must have been when Mori decided to kill me off, Bran realised.
“We assumed the barbarians that His Majesty meant were, of course, the Black Wings: surely not our Bataavian and Qin friends here in Kiyō,” the daimyo nodded at Curzius and Li. “But now, with the arrival of yet more Westerners,” the paddle pointed at Dylan, “this has changed. It is a conundrum for me.” He paused to sip cha and, Bran had no doubt, study the reactions on the faces of the gathered. “As the Oppertovenaar-dono can confirm, as the designated protector of Kiyō and the Southern Seas, I have always tried to maintain a healthy balance between the needs of Yamato and our foreign guests.”
So that’s why he’s here, thought Bran. He looked to the Magistrate. Was this the same man who chased Bran, Satō, and Nagomi out of Kiyō? He couldn’t quite remember. The bugyō sat unhappily over his cha cup, sunken-eyed, grey-faced.
This can’t end well.
Curzius bowed. “We have always valued your friendship, kakka.”
“Furthermore,” the daimyo continued, “I like to believe I was always a loyal and faithful servant of both the Taikun and the Mikado. It pains me to have to choose one over the other. Any decision I make will render me unhappy.” He sighed, theatrically, and fanned himself with the paddle.
A large, jewel-like beetle buzzed into the room and sat down on the straw floor near his legs. The daimyo studied its movements for a moment in silence, before a servant caught it with a cup and a piece of paper and carried it outside. “It is a time of trial for all of us,” he said at last. “This meeting is without precedent in Yamato’s history. Not since the days of Anjin-sama and beginning of the Taikunate did a daimyo seek advice from foreigners. I am eager to hear your opinion on these matters. And yours too, of course, bugyō-dono.” He nodded graciously at the Magistrate.
The bugyō raised his eyes. “I am the Taikun’s personal retainer,” he said. “I represent his interests over the city. You know what my opinion must be, Nabeshima-dono.”
“And what are His Excellency’s interests now, bugyō-dono?” asked Curzius. “We haven’t heard from Edo since the death of the previous Taikun.”
“A treaty has been signed,” the Magistrate replied, his voice shaking. He, too, produced a thrice-folded paper, this time marked with the mallow crest of Edo. “The Goru — ” He stumbled on the difficult name. “The Black Wings are allowed to land and trade in Yamato. An embassy will be established in a place called Shimoda.”
“This is far more than we have ever been allowed!” said Curzius.
“Some say the treaty was signed under duress,” added Li. “And knowing what we know about the Black Wings, it’s hard not to think there may be something to the rumour.”
“You’re one to talk,” the bugyō said, straightening his back. A faint spark appeared in his dulled eyes. “You and your Western cronies, coming here with your flying monsters and metal boats—”
“And shadow creatures,” added one of his retainers.
“You know very well we had nothing to do with that,” protested Curzius. “And if it wasn’t for our help, the city would have suffered far greater casualties.”
“It was all a trick. You summoned the monsters from the Otherworld, and then you sent them back,” the retainer scoffed. “Everyone knows barbarians dabble in demon arts.”
“Why don’t we ask the High Priest of Suwa, he was there—”
“A traitor too, I bet, just like the witch before him,” the retainer scowled.
Bran’s heart raced. He moved a knee forward and bowed before the daimyo. “Kakka!”
The daimyo nodded his paddle in intrigued amusement.
“Kazuko-hime was the kindest and bravest person I met in this land. And she had only the best interests of Yamato in her heart. I’m sure nothing would have made her happier than to serve Your Excellency with her advice today. Alas, due to the actions of some present here, we shall never again hear her wise words.” He cast a deliberately hurtful look at the Magistrate officials.
The bugyō cleared his throat. “That woman was found guilty of treason and executed on the personal orders of His Excellency Ieyoshi. There was nothing I could do.”
The daimyo’s laughter broke the tension. “Not even Curzius ever made you sweat so, Mizuno-dono! I’m glad I made you stay, boy. You have entertained me.” His face turned stern in an instant. “But enough of this. I will suffer no such trivial disagreements in this council. The fate of Yamato is at stake.”
“Kakka.” Bran bowed again and returned to his seat. He felt the need to wipe the sweat form his forehead, but such a vulgar gesture would not be welcomed in front of Lord Nabeshima.
“The Qin delegate raises an important matter,” the daimyo said. “What if a treaty is signed under duress? The dorako are stationed, according to our reports, less than a day’s journey from Edo. That is a constant and terrible threat, not just to the court, but to the entire city. It’s not unreasonable to think that the Taikun’s brush was forced.”
At the first mention of the word “treaty”, Dylan had perked up for the first time during the council. Now, finally, he spoke.
“Your Excellency, in dealings between civilised nations, a signed treaty is a binding treaty, regardless of the circumstances.”
Bran couldn’t believe his ears; it took him a moment to realise Dylan could not have said anything else. The interests of Dracaland and Gorllewin in Yamato may have been conflicted but, when it came to legal dealings with their colonial targets, the Western countries had to support each other staunchly.
All of Dracaland’s treaties with the conquered nations had been signed under threat of force. Bran had seen first-hand how the gunboat diplomacy worked in Yoruba and elsewhere; if Yamato questioned a treaty with the Gorllewin now, they would just as easily discard a treaty with the Dracaland. And where would the world be then? Bran imagined his father ask.
Civilised nations. What an arrogant, ignorant jab. It made Bran’s blood boil. Of course, Dylan would say that. In his world, only the West carried the torch of modern civilisation. The rest of the world remained more or less in a state of Dark Age barbarism. This is the exact reverse of how the Yamato see us, he noticed. How can we ever agree on anything?
Lord Nabeshima eyed Dylan with a studious frown. Then he turned back to the bugyō.
“Mizuno-dono,” he said, “I understand that another group of Gaikokujin visited the city not long ago. What happened to them?”
“I — I ordered them to sail to Edo, to meet with the court representatives.” The bugyō’s face grew even paler than before.
“Ordered?” The daimyo asked, with a mocking curiosity.
“Advised,” Lord Mizuno corrected, his eyes downcast. “It seemed for the best.”
“Is it not your duty to stop any foreigners from venturing further into Yamato? To throw them back into the sea from whence they came? Are you not responsible for the city’s defences?”
The bugyō looked up with a renewed defiance. “And what about you, Nabeshima-dono? Where were your forces?”
“I ordered my army gathered, and waiting,” the daimyo said. He was smiling. “But before I could send them to fight, we learned that the foreigners were gone.”
“Whatever will the Taikun think when the Varyaga boat arrives at Edo?” mused Curzius, as if to himself. “At least your predecessor had the good mind to commit suicide after the Phaeton Incident.”
The bugyō’s cheeks burned crimson. “I requested permission to do so from His Excellency. I was refused. It is my shame to live with.”
“Nobody questions your loyalt
y to the Taikun, Mizuno-dono,” the daimyo said, his voice now gentle and conciliatory. “And it’s not why I asked you about the Gaikokujin. Before their departure, were there any documents signed between them and yourself?”
“You know there were. A preliminary agreement that allowed them and any other, bar —” He bit his tongue. “ — foreigners, passage across Yamato, if they are on their way to further negotiations, and accompanied by a government official. Without that, they would be treated as invaders wherever they went.”
“Is this the same agreement that allows us to be here, now?” asked Dylan. The Bugyō nodded grimly.
“Would you say you signed it under duress?” asked the daimyo.
Lord Mizuno mulled over his answer, sipping his cha. “They had a cannon aimed at the city, just like Phaeton all those years ago,” he said, wistfully. “But that was not why I agreed to their terms.”
“Then why did you?” Lord Nabeshima prodded.
“They said they would protect Edo from the Black Wings.”
A storm of agitated whispers erupted among the daimyo’s courtiers. Bran did not, at first, understand the reason for this commotion, until Lord Nabeshima spoke again, and all was suddenly clear.
“Then you, too, do not believe the Taikun was acting of his free, unforced will.”
Lord Mizuno raised his hands in the air. “Of course I don’t! Giving land to the barbarians?” The mask had fallen off. He seemed relieved at being able to finally speak his mind. “Letting them fly wherever they want, all over Yamato? And the worst crime of all — using foreign army against his fellow countrymen!”
“Is this true?” Curzius asked. For the first time since the meeting had started, he was genuinely concerned.
“I’ve only heard rumours,” said the bugyō. “News from the North travels slowly, but… a flying monster is said to have ravaged Mito, and put a bloody end to the rebellion. Mito! The Taikun’s own family! Of course, I believe he’s being manipulated. But we have no proof, and without proof…”
The Withering Flame (The Year of the Dragon, Book 6) Page 12